


Just Skin

by JanuaryVictim, Unclesteeb



Series: Our Bodies Make Poetry [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Trans Male Character, Trans Sam Wilson, Trans Steve Rogers, mlm author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 04:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanuaryVictim/pseuds/JanuaryVictim, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unclesteeb/pseuds/Unclesteeb
Summary: Sam fantasises about Steve after their "date."





	Just Skin

**Author's Note:**

> It's me, Benjamin, aka januaryvictim! 
> 
> Let's say unclesteeb's ficlet inspired me to write a companion piece. You can read his story as the previous work in this series! 
> 
> As a disclaimer, if Sam referring to his junk as "dick" upsets you, skip this one.

It was a strange thing to think that he, Sam Wilson, had just been on a date with Steve Rogers. With Captain America himself. And yeah, so maybe he was using the word “date” a little too loosely—Steve had _just_ showed up at the VA, and he’d _just_ asked him for lunch, and they’d _just_ spent several hours (four hours and seventeen minutes to be precise, but really, who was counting) talking. All casual. 

So, sure, he’d spent those hours watching the sunlight shine on Steve’s pretty eyes, studying the careful mess of his hair, finding it endearing that Steve wore his hair like that perhaps in an attempt to seem more “modern” or even more “cool.” Sure, his eyes had wandered towards Steve’s hands on top of the table more often than he would freely admit. And, sure, he had felt his belly drop every time Steve touched him, something in his heart flutter every time Steve laughed—every time he _made_ Steve laugh. But it was no big deal. 

What he means, of course, is that none of it was “official.”

And because none of it was “official,” he certainly feels some way about how insistently his dick is demanding attention as soon as he closes the door behind him. He can hear Steve’s motorcycle as he drives away, see the game of shadows the light casts through his window. Maybe the way the bike vibrated had something to do with it; maybe the way he held tight to Steve’s body from behind had something to do with it. 

He takes a shower, attempts to cool off, because it’s weird to feel like this after just one alleged date. But of course it doesn’t work. 

When he’s in bed, a few minutes later, he shifts on the mattress. Biting his lip in hesitant disapproval, he lets his fingers slip under the waist of his boxers, spreads his legs a little bit. It’s gonna be hard to look Steve in the eye again if he does this. He still has time to stop, he tries to convince himself as his fingers graze over his body—and of course the shower didn’t help, and of course he’s hard. So, it’s gonna be weird to hang out with Steve again, but it’s not like Steve wasn’t flirting back. 

Sam brings his fingers to his mouth to get them wet, and he imagines they’re Steve’s. Steve does have such beautiful hands. He thinks of the map of veins on them as he gives himself a slow, almost reluctant stroke; he imagines the warmth of Steve’s hands, his calloused fingers as he reaches down and feels the wetness just below. He imagines Steve’s hands are rough to the touch. He also imagines Steve must be good with them. He’s sure Steve would know just how to touch him, how hard, how slow, how fast; he’d know just how to push his buttons; he’d play him like a piano, he’s sure. 

Shifting again on the bed, he spreads his legs a little more, and slides a hand up his belly towards his chest. He pinches his nipple and gives his pec a squeeze, his right hand picking up the pace under his boxers. His eyes are still shut, and he’s biting on his lip—imagining what it would be like to kiss Steve. Feel his lips, the sting of his bite. Something tells him (and maybe it is just wishful thinking) that Steve is a good kisser. A demanding kisser. He feels like Steve would kiss him hard until he couldn’t breathe, and wouldn’t let him catch a break. He imagines Steve kissing his neck, the sweet spot between the column of his throat and the curve of his shoulder; he imagines Steve biting on it, his teeth leaving a mark on his skin. Claiming it as his own. Embarrassingly, he moans at the thought of it, but he’s too far gone to really care. His fingers dip inside himself and he brings them back up, stroking his dick harder and faster, his hips moving up and down on his bed at just the right pace. 

His heart is pounding, throbbing in his ears and his belly and his dick, and he can feel sweat on his skin—so much for his shower. He imagines Steve pinning him to the wall, Steve’s thigh sliding up between his own, and he imagines grinding on it. Something tells him Steve would be beyond pleased with himself seeing the effect he would have on Sam. He imagines Steve’s mouth on him, his pretty, pink lips on him; he imagines Steve spreading his legs harshly and kissing his way up to the right spot. He imagines the warmth of Steve’s tongue on him, Steve’s breath on him; he imagines Steve teasing him, and how his blond hair would feel when he reached down to pull at it, desperate as he is now, grinding up against his face the way he’s moving now. He’d be lying if he said Steve’s big, dumb, crooked nose didn’t make him think of this, exactly. 

As he strokes himself faster still, squeezing at his chest, gasping and panting, he imagines Steve fucking him. He imagines Steve’s calloused fingers delving into him, curling inside him just the right way. Opening him up. He imagines Steve in a harness, his weight on him, the hard muscles of his torso pressed up against his back, fucking him hard and fast, a hand around his throat. Grunting in his ear. Moaning in his ear. Taking him between his fingers and stroking and rubbing—making Sam’s legs shake the way they are now, making him moan the way he is now, making his brain foggy the way it is now. Getting lost in Steve, in his warmth and his touch, lost in his breath and his sounds and his pleasure. 

He imagines Steve’s deep voice saying his name, and he comes. Suddenly, like stars exploding behind his eyelids. He comes thinking of Steve, so hard and so good he tries his best to ride it out, to soak in wave after exquisite wave, his hips still rocking as the sounds he shamelessly makes fill the room. His back arches off the bed and a breath catches in his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can feel himself throbbing under his fingertips, soaking wet and hypersensitive. He whines and lets out a deep sigh that feels closer to a grunt of protest.

“Fuck…” he sighs, finally pulling his hand out of his boxers. 

He stays lying there on his bed, arms and legs spread out, for a couple of minutes, coming down from the high. Trying to catch his breath as his brain starts to work on the ways he will forget he masturbated and came thinking of Steve after _one date._ A rational part of him tells him he should just let this go. Bury it deep and forget all about it, see Steve the next time they “hang out” and pretend he would _not_ drop everything to follow him if he asked. A rational part of him tells him he should keep his feelings, this weird, sudden crush in check. 

However, historically, he hasn’t been the best at following the rational voice in his head. 

After wiping his hand, he reaches up on his night stand to grab his phone and types out two messages. 

**Sam:** hey I know this is pretty forward of me, but are you free later?  
**Sam:** btw, do you top?

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! Feel free to drop me an ask on tumblr @gothlumberjack and also feel free to comment!


End file.
